


Voice of Man

by 655321



Category: The Exorcist (TV)
Genre: Angst, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 06:00:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13944498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/655321/pseuds/655321
Summary: A few seconds crackling with tension that felt like the universe whispering the words to them both. Marcus could hear the words, words from on high and words from the lips of the man who held him: “I love you, Marcus.”





	Voice of Man

“You don’t look out there for God, something in the sky, you look in you.” -Alan Watts

“Oh, Maker, have you ever loved  
Or known just what it was?”\- Janelle Monae, “Oh, Maker”

“Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips  
We could just kiss like real people do”-Hozier, “Like Real People Do”

***

Tomas dreamt it often. Sunshine through motel windows, catching particles in the air. A door clicking, swinging open. Marcus walking through, pack slung over one shoulder, taking off his hat. Touching Tomas with his eyes, and smiling. Tomas was never bitter, or angry, or disappointed when he woke and Marcus never stepped through the door. Tomas had faith.

The morning when Marcus did walk through the door, Tomas took a moment to count his breaths and reflect on what dreams felt like and what reality felt like, just to make sure he wasn't dreaming. He was awake. He was dressed; he’d had breakfast and coffee. And Marcus walked through the door, but he didn't smile. Tomas walked to him, and hugged him; hand gripping his leather jacket and his face against his shoulder, and for a moment it was like Marcus had never left.

The embrace put Marcus right back into the day he left; Tomas’ face hurt and confused and his pleading eyes and hands holding him tight. It didn't feel as stifling, as maddening as before but there was still the frightened piece of Marcus that wanted to turn right around and leave again. It took more courage for him to wrap an arm around Tomas than it did to face down a demon.

They pulled back to look at each other, both with a hand placed against the other’s neck.

“He sent me back to you, Tomas. He spoke to me.”

Tomas looked smug and said, “not an empty vessel,” with a knowing little quirk of his brow that said 'I told you so.’ 

Marcus hated how that was cute. With a friendly pat at Tomas’ shoulder, he stepped past and into the kitchenette. 

“I knew you'd come back,” Tomas told him, after moments of silence and heavy glances while Marcus helped himself to breakfast.

“Oh you knew, did you?” Marcus replied.

Tomas had missed that playful tone; it made his stomach flip.

“I dreamt about it.”

Something in Marcus wanted to embrace a thrill at being thought of, dreamt of; but all he could feel was dread. He tore his eyes off Tomas and stared down at the plate while he shoveled food into his mouth.

“You still dream about me,” he mused after a moment, his voice betraying nothing.

“I never stopped,” Tomas replied.

“Marcus!” Mouse exclaimed her surprise upon entering the room, but her voice was cold. “You came back.”

***

Weeks later, and one night they were alone in a motel room together. It had been a couple days since the last grueling exorcism. They’d found success in it; at the last possible moment,Tomas had connected with the soul trapped inside. Marcus felt his bitter resentment ebbing, being replaced with concern that Tomas was riding too high, too far. But whatever Tomas was doing, it was effective. Mouse provided support and an important additional voice in a righteous choir, but she'd become used to doing it her own way. She'd made her opinions known but still deferred to them. Who knew how long that would keep up. Marcus had been pushing to move on, nevermind they didn't have any new leads yet.

“You need to learn how to relax,” Tomas was telling him, and bringing him a beer.

With a snort he replied, “you think I don't know how to relax?”

“I  _ know  _ that you don't know how to relax.”

Marcus sipped the beer and shook his head.

“No time to relax. There's too much work to be done.”

“See, that's just it. It's too much. We have to have some kind of self-care. We're no good running on fumes. It's too easy to make a mistake.”

“Self. Care?” Marcus rolled these words around in his mouth like they were bitter; confusing, didn't belong together. He laughed. 

Tomas looked at him with pity, and that made him scowl. Tomas wanted to say - and that's why you always run away. But what he said was, “has anyone ever given you a massage?”

Marcus laughed the way a normal person laughs at a joke, but it didn't affect Tomas. He just inclined his head curiously. 

“Should we just go to bed then?” Marcus quipped with a snort, but there was a hint of cynical disappointment in it.

That tension was always there between them and they both knew it, but it had never been spoken before.

Tomas only answered serenely, “if you like.”

He was calling the bluff, but also leaving himself vulnerable and open and Marcus didn’t know what to do with any of it.

“I'm serious,” Tomas pressed, “You might be surprised. Touch is important. Human intimacy connects us to the divine.”

Marcus quirked an eyebrow. He drank and said nothing. 

“Of course, if it makes you uncomfortable, just forget I said anything.”

That was not a challenge, Marcus reminded himself. Just Tomas being so sweetly sincere that it hurt like a toothache. Heartache. Marcus could always be gentle with anyone but himself. He wanted very desperately to flat out refuse, or ignore all of this. But he held the power to have Tomas’ hands on him with only a word. And he knew he shouldn’t want it; he knew getting it would only make him want it more.

“Alright, sure,” he grumbled and finished the beer.

“Take off your shirt,” was Tomas’ reply, his tone firm, sensual; not the warm amiability he'd had a moment ago.

That hit Marcus like a delicious punch in the face; Tomas, for a second in time aloof and commanding, sitting in the chair across from him, bottle in hand. So far from his usual deferential tenderness but Marcus thought he wore it well. Something sparked and smoldered in Marcus as he realized he’d never trusted anyone the way he did Tomas.

Tomas gave a warm quirk of his lips and stood. He set down the beer and rubbed his hands together to warm them before sitting on the couch with Marcus.

With a sigh, Marcus pulled his shirt off. Faced with the option of wedging himself awkwardly into the couch, he instead slid onto the floor so that he sat between Tomas’ legs. He calmed at this, for now he had more space to himself. The younger man’s touch was a balm; it didn’t ignite him the way he’d thought. He closed his eyes, focused on his own breathing, and let Tomas’ hands soothe him. 

They stayed that way for nearly an hour. Tomas working loose knotted muscle until his own fingers felt almost numb. But to him touch was elation, comfort and excitement simultaneously. As a child, Tomas felt magic in the presence of others, and that never waned. Tomas felt elevation at eye contact, felt transcendent in even the most mundane interaction. Everything was special, sparking. For what could it be but God, pulling people together like magnets because with others is the only way we can survive. He felt God in a friendly hand on his shoulder. Once he took his vows, that kind of innocent touch became necessity. He became known for hands on shoulders and hugs and long handshakes.

After a while, Tomas had to stop, patting Marcus’ shoulder and sliding away from the older man. His hands shook with how much he wanted to embrace Marcus; wrap the other man’s body up in his and share the warmth and the touch and the smell.

Marcus hauled himself back up onto the couch. The peace he felt in that moment was incomparable, his shoulders cleared of a lifetime’s tension. He felt a little strung-out, really. His head fell back and he looked over to Tomas.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, grinning. 

Tomas truly wished he could have left it at that. He wondered if it was selfish, needing to say these things to Marcus when the man had only now found a modicum of peace. 

“You carry so much hurt with you, Marcus. I know the pain doesn't go away, but I'm afraid that you think it's what you deserve. God will always forgive you, but you also have to forgive yourself. You don't deserve that pain, and you don't have to carry it alone.”

Marcus smiled and brushed his knuckles down Tomas’ arm, resting his hand near to Tomas’, letting their fingers twine.

Tomas slid closer to Marcus. His face hovered close above Marcus’ and he watched the older man’s eyelids grow heavy, clearly struggling with consciousness.  _ Leave it _ , his mind was whispering to him urgently, but it didn’t stop him.

“Marcus,” he whispered and their breath each touched the other’s lips.

“Mmmm?” Marcus’ eyes flickered open and Tomas was so close. 

He knew what Tomas wanted; he wanted it too and they both knew it. Marcus wouldn’t hold this against Tomas, the younger man was far too earnest to be manipulative.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, so gently.

“No,” Marcus replied, equally gentle. He knew if he kissed Tomas, it wouldn't just be a kiss. It would be a floodgate opening. “There are so many reasons why we can't do this.  _ You _ can't do this. We both know that. And maybe I wanted to break the rules with you, but now, I can't. Not when I just got it back.”

Tomas took Marcus’ face in his hands and met the older man's eyes calmly, “It didn't come back, Marcus. Because it never left you. He never left you.”

Tomas’ voice was a heavy, comforting cadence and Marcus found himself matching his breath to it.

“If you don't want me, it doesn't change anything between us. But that choice is yours. He loves you. And you already know that love is unconditional.”

He paused, a few seconds crackling with tension that felt like the universe whispering the words to them both. Marcus could hear the words, words from on high and words from the lips of the man who held him: “I love you, Marcus.”

“I do want you, Tomas. I want you like mad. The way I want you, it fills me up and spills over.” Marcus looked tired, beaten. “You know that this isn't about breaking rules. It's about -”

“Devotion,” Tomas supplied the word just as Marcus said it, so that it entered the air in unison.

Marcus could only slowly shake his head and whisper, “I can't,” before he stood and grabbed his shirt, pulling it on as he crossed the room, and left. Tomas wanted to call after him but he knew that would be useless. If Marcus needed to be alone, then that's what he needed.

***

Tomas woke and there was still darkness beyond the windows. He rolled onto his side and his groggy eyes could only make out from the digital clock that it was the small hours of the morning, a single digit to the left of the blinking colon. He closed his eyes against the small red glare and shifted his body until he was comfortable. After a few moments, his body tired but his mind suddenly restless, he opened his eyes again to the dark room, only to find a figure sitting in the chair against the wall. 

“Marcus,” he whispered and stretched out a hand. “Are you really there?”

Marcus stood from the chair and knelt at the edge of the bed, taking Tomas’ hand in his own two and leaning his cheek against them.

“I'm here.”

“What are you doing?” Tomas mumbled. 

“Tomas,” his breath ghosted over their interlocked hands, “I've never said this to anyone. I love you.”

The power, the intent of the words filled the room and colored the silence with their presence. Tomas licked his lips and sighed and curled his body nearer to Marcus’ even though all he had of him was his hands, his face. 

“I've been praying,” Marcus continued, tears in his voice, “and thinking about what you said. About caring for myself like I care about other people. Forgiving myself. Thinking about what's important. To me,  _ for  _ me. I've never really done that before.”

He stroked his fingers across Tomas’ palm. 

“I don't want to lose you.”

Tomas propped himself up on an elbow so that he could shake his head emphatically and hold Marcus’ face with his free hand.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“That's not what I mean.”

“I'm right here.”

Marcus nodded, Tomas could see ready tears gleaming in the man's eyes.  _ Right here. _ And that's what Marcus really meant. Any day could be their last and neither held illusions about that. But it wouldn't be fear that made the choice.  _ Love, always love. _

“Come here. Get some sleep,” Tomas urged gently. 

Marcus climbed into the bed without shame, only a heavy-limbed exhaustion and a weightless elation he was too tired to revel in. He succumbed to sleep in seconds while Tomas curled against his chest. Tomas inhaled the scent of his skin and the sweet smoke that clung to it and felt utter relief.

**Author's Note:**

> I have never been so fucking nervous writing a ship, I don't know if it's the Catholicism or the sheer quality of writing on this show or what, but fuck.


End file.
